As soon as Amber and I enter the club, the lingering smell of marijuana pierce my nose. My eyes blink to adjust to the blue and green lights that move in sync. The throb of rock music played by the DJ pound in my ear and pulsate under my skin. We pass tons of drunk, sweaty people, grinding and dancing against each other, like it's their last day on earth. It is what I always did.
I recognise several people from the coffee shop where I work, but they stare at me not recognising me. My honeyed brown hair bleached red at the tips, glitter lined below and above my eyelids. Dark Bronze eyeshadow amassed at the outer corners of my eyes; with my thin lashes curled, and concealer hid the bags under my eyes, —My appearance had completely changed.
Two muscular guys dancing winks at me and moves closer to me. I send a grimace towards their direction and deeply more in the crowd. With shuffling feet forward, my shoulder sags waiting for Amber to reappear back. My feet tapping at the beat of the music,stops immediately, as Amber stands beside me holding a crystal liquid swaying in a transparent bottle as she moves from side to side.
'Take it, let's have some fuune,' She slurs, as her eyes give me a go-ahead.
I reach to grab the bottle but a image of a younger version of me sprawled on a hospital bed makes me back up a few steps from her and the strong mixture of liquid, trying to refrain from this habit but everything--lies and confession completely crashes down my face.
With trembling hands, I take a slig from the bottle. The liquid slouches down my lips and slides down my throat; it burns like a sensation equivalent to boiling water pouring on one's skin. I wheeze, slapping my chest. Then an aftertaste of a zippy, lemony flavour fills my mouth thus sweetens its taste. I miss getting drunk. The last time I did so was during my first year of college after my father had died of depression. I was deeply hurt that he lied about not leaving again, when now he's forever gone.
Where do other people seek comfort?
I wipe my mouth with my numb thumb.
The dopamine sets in. A light-headed feeling from the alcohol creeps upon me. It's insanely euphoric.
My feets tap on their own, my hand soon joining them in the air, like a puppet on a string. My body and hips move like an uncoiling rope, sways with the beats of the music and crowd.
I'm having the best moments of my life!
Amber, with glittering makeup the same as mine moulds her back to mine and we sway our hips, grinning like idiots. The beads of sweat slide my makeup down to my shoulder. It is probably already a mess because of the heat and more sweat pours out from every outlet of my body pores. The more steps I take, the more alcohol controls me and the happier I get.
It's like a shot of adrenaline to my heart.
Unexplainable
feeling
of
being
Free !!
Like I am flying! !
This is where I always belong,
Yolanda and the music
This is it!
Haven
..
.....
........
Suddenly, I stagger forward and one foot hits the other in a cross-like manner. I stumble over nothing. My scream get lost in the noise as I land with my ass on the floor.
Dancing in heels should be an Olympic sport!
Soft gasp beside me trickles my ear and my legs coil around each other.
Pairs of white sneakers appear and a hand stretches forth. With a shaky step, I haul my body upward with his hands, and flash the freckle face in front of me a toothy grin. Glancing around for Amber but she's nowhere to be found again, I limp my way into the crowd. It takes moments before I spot a man behind the counter mixing drinks.
I slide onto the stool, reading the menu. A particular exotic drink catches my eye—Shirley Ginger.
'I would like to order a Shlur-ee Gingar.' My jaw stretches for the correct pronunciation.
The bartender grins at me, holding a jar in his hand. 'Having a good time?' he asks.
I nod vigorously as my finger taps the counter in rhythm to the beat, my eyes peer sideways over my shoulder.
A sheer clothing beside me immediately snags my attention and a sense of familiarity washes over me about the person's dress. I rub my eyes with my fists to make sure I am not hallucinating.
'Wait.... is that a Veinblein?' I blurt out loud before, I slap my two hands above my mouth because of how loud my voice is despite the loud music blaring and how people nearby look weirdly at me.
But who can blame me? It's the great 'Veinbein', named by the media and worn by seven billionaires including the designer. Nobody imagined Lorenzo, the old designer of LUGIA could come up with the idea. Not that he wasn't good—just his ability to evolve in fashion. Its fabric is made purely from lotus, a very rare silk, with little diamond dots as a floral pattern.
The man turns sideways and stares at me. 'What if it is?' his gruff voice asks.
'No way! How did you get it?' My finger wags up and down. 'Only seven people wear it, and you don't look like one of them, unless...'
His upper lip curls downward and his ruffled hair whip as he turns fully to face me. '—Unless?'
My eyes open wide not only because of bulging muscle and his sculptured face but because this is a woven tropical pattern instead of a floral pattern. My voice shrills, 'Unless it's fake.'
Why did the thought not occur to me earlier?
Recently, the police arrested a French designer for plagiarised design; he—the French artist copied everything except the fact that the diamond dots were replaced with cheap copper. Multiple charges were filed and the news went viral.
Con artists at their best!
'How will someone like you know that?' His pouty lips firm into a thin line and his small eyes size me up and down.
My nose flares up and my mouth opens to reply to this arrogant jerk but a loud noise pulls me out.
'Miss, here's your Shirley ginger,' the waiter says, placing it on the counter.
The half-full champagne glass shows my mini reflection, and I cringe; my lips are slightly pouty and streaks from smacking together, and mascara smudges all over eyes
Clothing -wise I am wearing a wine leather skirt that rests above my ass cheek and a tube top spilling out a little cleavage.
In other words, I look like a clown.
I take a sip of my drink, and the man's gruff accent asks again, 'What gives you the impression I am wearing a fake? Don't you know who I am?'
I visibly roam my eyes at him, chiselled jawline with a light stubble, small lips with a pleated grumpy expression —he looks like the upgraded version of Shrek with tons of fake clothing.
Raising my eyebrow, I slowly sip my drink. 'And who may you be?'
He ruffles his hair and says cockly,'You don't know who I am?'
My mouth opens but words are not able to form. Who does he think he is? A president? But his fake design cloth stares at me and tells me otherwise.
I bite my lips to prevent my lips from spilling laughter. 'Are you like the world's hero or something?'
His pointed nose scrunches as lines form between his eyebrows and he says, 'You don't even know who I am.'
I roll my eyes. 'Darling, nobody knows who you are. You are just another person who gets conned by an artist over this dress.' I say.
'Conned?' He affirms. Then a deep husky laughter fills my ear and the corner of my lips turn upward.
'What?' I ask. Anyone who's well versatile in the fashion industry or knows even mere clothing itself fully knows that this..' I point towards the dress hung loosely on his bulging chest. '..is not available to the public because of the old lulu twisted mentality.
'Old Lulu? Twisted mentality?' His eyes bulge out like he's just seen horror.
'What?' I laugh, slapping his arm lightly. What's with the expression? It's a nickname and phrase known to everyone. What planet are you from?
He frowns and I scoff. 'Are you serious, you don't even know the real owner of the design.'
He mumbles something incoherent and shrugs. 'Well I think the artist did a great job?'
'Well, yes, he or she did a great job because, at a closer look, that's not a floral pattern but a tropical one. Your dress almost fooled me though,' I pause then continue, 'I don't understand why people steal or recreate others' artwork. Why can't they just make something out of their own imagination?' I ask rhetorically.
My nose scrunches before I finally speak up. 'That's purely imitation and is not inspiring.
Environment, social cause are, but not an artwork copy. Recreation—I quote my hands in the air — is lifeless.'
He straightens up in his stool and leans in closer, taking up my personal space. I catch my breath a little as cologne wafts in the air. A woodsy smell. He smells so good.
'This Veinblein is inspired by the 90's artwork, the designer aura is what makes it special.'
I cough down, trying to think, critiques stir up lots of thoughts about 'Veinblein' but not its being inspired by another artwork so what is he implying now?
'There's no fact to prove that, it's not like you made the dress, LUGIA did and you wouldn't know that?' I ask.
His whole body turns rigid for a split second then he crosses his arm, pushing his eyebrows together. 'Neither would you know that.' He eyes me. 'You don't look like a fashion designer?'
I slightly pause and my cheek reddens thinking of all my sketches. They are very—mushy. 'I just have vast knowledge,' I say cheekily.
Vibrations hum from the direction of my skirt, cutting our conversation short, and I tug my phone out with my finger. My lips bare firmly together at the name written on the caller ID, 'Mother'. My thumb swipes the red button glaring beside the green one. She always wins an award for ruining my day but I am definitely not ready to allow her to ruin this night.
I cast my eyes in the crowd opposite the bar and a blond haired figure clutching a little feminine physique made my breathing shallow.
'John'
My eyes squint to the average height girl beside him and my lips tremble. Is she the one he's cheated on me with?
My fingers cramp from gripping the glass tight, and I swiftly chug down the entire liquid. My eyes still fix on what's in front of me.
'What are you staring at? That it looks like you are about to stab with your bare hands.'
Tears fill my eyes as I stare at him.
'Are you okay?' He asks?
I give him no reply as I fumble for the phone that I tuck back in my pocket as the two figures are almost reaching the bar.
They stop at the bartender counter.
'My regular, John, how many centuries has it been man.' The bartender shrills.
My phone falls on the ground making a loud noise.
John is a regular here? The John I know hated clubs and anything that has to do with partying. The John I knew worked hard every night in his mini studio.
The John I know.....
I look up and our eyes connect.
The eyes I have once sought comfort from become so hard to look into.
John's posture stiffen and he stutters.
'Yolanda?'
I try to refrain myself from looking at their holding hands but my gaze drops to their holding hands again. He notices it and drops her hand.
A large arm pulls me with my stool closer and I squirm. 'Just stay still.'
A husky voice I just know this night whispers into my ear.
I force a smile towards John and the stranger. An alertness on John's eye sits on his eyes as his gaze weighs on the action happening between both of us.
Silence fills the thick atmosphere.
Only the hot breath that feathers through my skin can be heard.
Iassess the girl with John close up like a professor assessing a student's thesis.
Her lashes are so long and curled. The redness of her lipstick accentuated her thick protruding lips.
She looks so young and flawless despite her makeup. My eyes land on her stomach but it is so flat.
Aren't they expecting a baby together?
Her big breast bounces as she try to take drinks from the bartender. He would always say body size don't matter, but apparently lie were just spilling out from his lips. I eye her face back and she smile at me.
Her smile is even prettier.
'Babe.' Her pitchy voice says, 'Is she the college friend you've been speaking about'? She faces John with the drinks in her hands. He drinks at a go and says, 'Yes, she's just a college friend of mine.'
My fingers touch my lips as I gulp .
'College friend?' I murmur. Four years together and I'm just a college friend?!
'Hi, I'm bella. '
I force a smile again because that is what I am good at.
The stranger's hand extends to John. ' A friend of my Curicina is also a friend of mine.'
John's hand hangs midway in the air then his hand clapse the stranger's hand very firmly. Veins pop out from each other's hands as their hands wrap tightly.
The atmosphere becomes really tense.
'Nice Veinblein by the way.' John growls.
'Since we are getting bored here.' He kisses my neck. '
I'm wondering mi more, if you want to do many other things outside this party.'
I glare at him. What the hell does he think he's doing? He smirks at me.
'Or we can just go see the Dominiques sexo en el aire I promised you. It's just at my hotel' He grins.
John and my eyes bulge out.
'Dominiques sexo en el aire' is an oil canva depicting two lovers embracing one another through veils made in 1938 and has only two copies bought by an anonymous person who is said to pay 10 million dollars for the painting.
He winks at me. 'I heard it's better seen at night.'
Then he loudly says,' Your friends can tag along. It can be a double date.'
'What a domino—'
'It's just a painting, nothing of mere interest.' John cut his new girlfriend.
'Im sorry, we will pass the offer.' John says, clutching her by the hand and they both leave.
The tense atmosphere slowly fades away. I cough as the stranger's arm is still wrapped around me.
He removes and I say. 'Are you bluffing about the Dominique —
'No...' He affirms. 'And I promise it's not the fake version.'
I stare at him in disbelief.
'It's just a mere offer.' He shrugs
A mere offer that looks promising yet risky.
After a quick indecisiveness I rest my finger on my lips and I say, 'Yes, I will like to have a look at it.'
In an attempt to pay for my drinks he beat me to it, telling the bartender to put it on his tab we both left.
————— Author Notes —————
Wooaahh.....
How do you escape your reality? And what was/is the reason you escaped it?
I want to escape my everyday life. That's why I watch romantic movies or l watch thirst traps on Tiktok 😊 best escapism ever!
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Bye
Nunestar🌟⭐